Paintings by Iconoclastic
by Fuji S
Summary: Paintings are symbols but Fuji is the Iconoclastic.


Title: Paintings by Iconoclastic  
Author: Fuji S. Yuki  
Rating: PG  
Genre: General  
Character: Fuji  
Assigned Editor: **pookayasha**

Fingers smoothly grip the wooden paintbrush sliding over canvas smoothly and efficiently. He had always loved the feel of such tools and in a way they were a part of him. Part of his body; gracefully guiding along the heavy frame that would pound softly with each finger of his fingers, mind over body.

The paintbrush was his extension it was a puppet dancing to his will and in a way Fuji like that-he like that he could manipulate it to its fullest ability.

Stroke after stroke splotches of peach to blue appear over the white canvas. Creating molding and shaping the images that were flashing in peaks and seduction to the viewer, and yet all Fuji did was close his eyes and imagine. That place-the place he so dearly wanted to be, because that was the fantasy of his dream and all he could do is mimic it.

If he were honest with himself this was relaxing a escape from his normal worrying thoughts of his family to his school work. Here he could lose himself and just feel the soft lulling of the ocean to the bayside shores of a small plaza. Where children would run on the beaches calling to one another, while flickers of sand would grind against skin of tiny feet.

This was the talent that belong to Fuji the ability to see, but everything paled to the memory of what he experienced when he was younger. Many of these scenes were captured just like the ever flickering of the shutters on an old fashion camera. Just a click and eternity was captured in a single millisecond and forever plastered there on the walls of someone's home. Even though his home was not as big as a mansion Fuji hang up canvas to dry. To let them bale in the moonlight until they are finally shown to the day of light. Each of these items is then give away to be place in the world of each household and even though the single scribble name on the bottom symbolizes the author. No one knew who he was and that was fine with Fuji, because he like privacy, even though what he painted was a window to his very soul.

Art was always a part of Fuji's life he was called a tensai in tennis, but if people look carefully they would discover the carefully hidden talents of one so young. He heard earn millions of yens thanks to this talent and if he should choose any career he would live comfortably, but all Fuji wanted to do was to live. To be able to dream of that dream that calls forth to him of a dreamy castle in the heavens that look upon the grounds of water. To be able to jump from that cloudy sky into a ocean and skin deeply seem wondrous and Fuji wanted that, he wanted to be able to sink down into the abyss.

No one understood the peaceful waves that concurrently swamped across his heart, let alone the depth of emotions the tensai held, if one were to cast a pebble into the depths it would call on a tsunami. Yumiko knew this, she knew of the temperament that was held in check by a wall, the wall of a smile, and sadistic humor. Art was something full of fun and happiness, one could lazily just lose themselves with each stroke and flitter and yet one could destroy the artwork by just simply screwing up and scattering paint all over. Yet there was still a simple tool and that was turpentine.

To bad in life there was no such tool to erase mistakes that one had borne into the world, but then in this world of easels and paints, Fuji could and he was happy.

Magic people would call the artworks when they receive it, Brilliant, Well-done, Glorious, they all would cry out to the artist called "Iconoclastic." This was the name that Fuji had chosen it was by chance he came up with such a name, when looking through Tezuka's English Dictionary.

He felt it was fitting for 'Iconoclastic' means one who attacks and seeks to overthrow traditional or popular ideas. This was fine with Fuji he was one that didn't like tradition he didn't like institutions and in a way he would seek to overthrow it by existing. Another definition is one who destroys sacred religious images and for this he painted to destroy the old and break it with a new that wouldn't ever be an icon.

Yet-while doing so he lived in these paintings, but lately the living had begun to shift to other things besides his dream like scenarios of nature or the ocean. Now he pour himself in his artwork as a refuge from the world, whenever angered by the injustices or the fights with his little brother he would seek haven in what he called the 'Elysian' the sanctuary of his room. Painting all out of his mind until he became mindless and one with what was being flaunted over sheets and sheets of paper.

He painted ruins of the past, pictures of the Sphinx's to fairy tale creatures ranging from Unicorns to undersea mermaids. Yet to all of these creatures he used a hazy outlook to make them dreamlike and unreal, hiding away their faces, even though he made distinctions to those in real life. A good example is a painting of Alice in Wonderland—

Fuji as a child always loves that tale of the rabbit hole and the delusions of the child that went to a dreamland paradise of twisted ness. He loves the poetry that was given the morals; the cunningness; and even the tricky pervasions of a sadistic mind. The creator was said to be on drugs when writing this little tale; but to Fuji he assume that the writer was one that was on a new level compare to other's. After all back then perhaps the writer would have been consider an outcast or perhaps just plain weird. Yet now the artwork itself was displayed for millions around the world to read.

It was an iconoclastic art of work in the past and now it in itself represented the breaking of a social barrier. Fuji wanted to grasp that in his hands as well, he wanted to be able to live in the now and be able to be the iconoclastic, he wanted to present a figure that would break all glass barriers. So he worked endlessly—when he had time or even no time at all. It was fun this way, and the one thing Fuji like was thing that interested him and so he painted mass after mass of imaginational worlds.

Dark triangles plaster over land and body scales of golden grains of sands to alien planets in unusual formations. Finger gliding paint being used up, and with each entry he created people would stare at such artwork in amazement of the creator. He was good at scenes, but mostly he was good at drawing people in faded situations.

He favorite subject was those around him, the items they cherish and with that mind frame he sketch picture after picture in a land that was so warped it made sense to those that could open their minds.

The data tennis player he drew in while manipulating structure he created as a mad scientist with bunny ears, a data pad in his hand, while lab chemicals ranging from all sizes surround him. But all anyone saw was the faint profile and not the true face, and this is how Fuji liked it, to give animosity to those that he live around.

For Kikumaru he would cast on kitten ears while having a tail dangle off his lean body as he bounces around in front of an ice cream parlor. Only the backside showed, while a uniform of a junior high schooled molded across his shoulders and legs. Slender fingers would sketch out the positions of the cascading light announcing that in that tiny parlor the time would be near dinnertime, artificial light would give the scene a more bluish outlook.

Gracing his fingers against the sketch board of his canvas Fuji lean against his chair staring out in the fields that surrounded his home, his Elysian Fields. Sprouting a relax pose, he stood up and fetch his backpack and took his sketchbook with him, opening the door he waltz outside into the fresh air that greeted him. Japan was a miraculous place; it was a intermixture of transportation, city life, and even the daily rural splotches of land.

Even if Fuji wouldn't admit it, he had always love Japan, surely he heard people his age announce they wanted to travel around the world. That Japan was too small of a place to keep them, and in a way he agree, they should get out and come back to see if Japan was still small. For Fuji would give them the world, as long as he could keep Japan for Japan was in his heart, like millions that have grew up around the area proud of what they sought in their mediocre lives.

Sometimes going to places and trying to get goals that were way past any person they over look the simple things of life, and Fuji like the simple things. He wasn't a seeker of glory—but he was a seeker of tranquility.

Strolling Fuji finally arrive at his favorite spot in the park. Here he would take out his sketchbook with pencil and mindlessly sketch out whatever that came to his mind. Sometimes he would take his surroundings, other times he would watch people and sketch them just for fun.

Dancing light filter through the canopies of the tree's as they futilely try to shed those beneath them from the UV lights of the sun. Sighing charcoal pencil slid on paper sketching out eyes in round ovals, while adding on dusty shading of a muzzle then strings of hair flicker out from that muzzle. Amused Fuji adores tiny little ears in place and added on the small fluffy body of his recent model.

Ironically he remember the day he met this cute adorable feline, it was when the cat had follow Echizen Ryoma to school. Fingers slid carefully against the paper he smudges some of the muzzle to give shading, while gracefully adding an environment of arms that would lain beside this creature. Fuji always liked the sleeping poses of his models, how they would all be sleeping oblivious to what is going on around him, but adding on a playful gleam in the felines eyes and flickering of it's paws. He added a cattail toy in front of it, with an individual's hand playing with the funny creature.

Beside the cat he drew the form of a sleeping boy, whose hat cover his face to avoid identification to those looking at the picture. But to those that didn't recognized the boy all they would think is that the child was avoiding sunlight as he slept.

Sighing Fuji store away the sketch book and flopped down on the cool grassy fields, his eyes open to stare at the sky, his hand reaching out wanting to touch the atmosphere. This was what a dreamier would see Fuji muses, and to those around him this is what someone taking a nap constantly would see when waking up. 

Was—this part of the reason why Ryoma would stare at the clouds let alone sleep in the open? Fuji couldn't known, but it was something he would like to try for in the grassy fields of a park the world was centralized for him, but the land he was on –was all Japan and that was what mattered to Fuji. For even though he was a breaker of tradition—he admit he was a hypocrite's for the land he was on wasn't only an icon, but a home.

And—the people around him were family, even if some were truly baka's.

Complete 12:28pm PST 4-19-04


End file.
